


Getting Out

by Sholio



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: Rescuing Neal is only the first step.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).



> Also for my h/c bingo "imprisonment" square.

When they finally broke down the door of the basement room where Neal was being held, Peter had about a million nightmare images of what might be on the other side, but at first glance it wasn't actually that bad. The room had bare concrete walls and a dirt floor, and Neal was on a chain about six feet long, hooked to a metal ring in the wall. He was sitting on a bare mattress when Peter kicked the door in, and he jerked his head up and then shielded his face from the light. He was still wearing the same suit he'd been wearing when he was taken two days ago, a little dirty and the worse for wear now, though it looked to Peter like Neal had been taking care to keep his tie tied and his shirt buttoned down.

"Back," he snapped at the agents with him, "Diana, set up a perimeter," and Diana, understanding perfectly, headed off to do exactly that, and incidentally keep everyone else out, while Peter stepped through the broken doorframe alone.

"Hey there," he said neutrally as he knelt to take a look at the cuff on Neal's wrist.

"Hi," Neal said. He was still squinting in the light coming in from the corridor.

Peter tried his handcuff key in Neal's cuff, and to his vast relief, it fit -- there really were only a few designs unless they'd had something custom-made -- and the cuff snapped off. Neal rubbed his wrist; Peter glimpsed bruising under the cuff of his shirt, and caught his wrist gently. 

"What, you pick _my_ cuffs but not this one?" he tried to joke, gently cradling Neal's wrist in his hands.

"Yeah, well ..." Neal looked away. "They let me know what would happen to you and Elizabeth if I got out. I was still trying to figure out a way around that."

So he'd stayed in the dark for two days, when he could have escaped. God. _Neal._

"Come on," Peter said gently, and with an arm around his shoulders, got him out of there.

***

Elizabeth didn't ask any questions when Peter showed up on the doorstep with Neal. He'd already sent her a couple of texts giving her a general idea of the situation, which was why Peter was unsurprised to find Mozzie at the kitchen table, sharing a glass of wine with El. There was a neat pile of clean, pressed, and folded clothing on the couch that looked like it had come from June's.

Neal was wearing a pair of Peter's sunglasses, though he still blinked behind them as if the lights were too bright. Elizabeth gave him a hug and then firmly but gently sent him upstairs to change. Peter drifted into the kitchen and got a beer. After today, he wanted something stronger, but the beer would do for now.

"Your intel was good," he told Mozzie. "Thanks."

"Like I wouldn't have done more if I could." Mozzie looked tired. Peter knew he'd been out scouring his sources 24/7 for information on where Neal had been taken. They'd had their differences through the years, but one thing Peter had never had cause to doubt was Mozzie's commitment to Neal.

El went to refill their wine glasses, and Peter leaned on the counter. He hadn't had much sleep the last couple of days himself. "No recriminations?" he asked quietly. "Nothing about how I should've protected him better, should've ..." He broke off, because it was nothing he hadn't said to himself a thousand times over the past two days.

Somewhat to his surprise, Mozzie's response was a slight, tired smile. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You do it better than I ever could."

Before Peter could figure out what to say to that, El plunked down three glasses of wine, plus a fresh beer in front of Peter; he was a little surprised to find out he'd nearly emptied his first one already. 

"The steaks are marinated and ready for grilling," she said. "And one portabella mushroom for those who prefer to avoid red meat."

"Since when are you a vegetarian?" Peter asked Mozzie.

"Hello! Do you have any idea what goes on at commercial slaughterhouses?" Mozzie whipped out his phone. "Let me enlighten you, Suit --"

"Please, _please_ don't."

There was a soft laugh from the doorway, which was Peter's first clue that Neal was standing there, or rather leaning there, watching them. He'd taken off the sunglasses, and changed into the clothes Mozzie had brought, a clean suit minus the tie and jacket. It didn't look much like lounging-around-wear to Peter, but it was probably Neal's version of it.

"You prefer your steaks medium rare, don't you, Neal?" El asked, taking a dish out of the refrigerator.

"If it's a good cut." Neal's movements were slow, and Peter tried not to stare at him, tried not to scrutinize his every movement as he crossed the floor and sat down at the kitchen island, taking the spare glass of wine as if he knew it was meant for him.

The thing was, Neal hadn't been hurt. Everyone from the guys who kidnapped him to the medics on site had been firm on that. The only injuries were the rings of bruises around his wrists -- at least, the only ones that showed on the outside.

And, as Peter knew very well, Neal was better than anyone else at bleeding on the inside without showing it.

Peter got up and took the dish of marinated steaks from El, because he felt that anyone else would do better at handling Neal right now than he would. He just wasn't _good_ at this stuff. He went out on the patio and got busy getting the grill to exactly the right temperature.

He was focused enough that, when he turned around to get the steaks and saw Neal sitting at the patio table with a half-empty glass of wine, he jumped.

"Good situational awareness, Peter," Neal said with a ghost of a smile.

"Do you always sneak up on people?" It wasn't a very good comeback, but his heart rate was still coming down.

Neal wordlessly held out the marinating dish. Peter took it and forked the steaks (and one mushroom) onto the grill.

"I don't suppose you know anything about grilling mushrooms," he said, poking at it. Did you leave it on as long as a steak? He didn't want to ruin it, but he'd never done one before. Mushrooms and other forms of fungus were not really in his cooking repertoire.

"Sorry, no. I'm not used to preparing my meals over an open fire."

"It's a gas flame, thanks," Peter said. "You make it sound like I'm a caveman with a hunk of meat on a stick."

"If the shoe fits," Neal said, and another of those faint smiles ghosted across his face.

Peter would have done anything in that instant to wipe that exhausted look off Neal's face and replace it with one of his usual cocky smiles. But he couldn't do that, any more than he could do a damn thing about the two days Neal had spent in the dark ... any more than he could fix Neal's crappy childhood, or the whole thing with Kate, or any of the other Neal-related things that were beyond his control.

Instead he pulled a chair over by Neal's and sat down, curling his fingers around his now-warm beer. "Guess I'll just cook it like a steak. If Mozzie doesn't like it, he can do his own next time."

Neal smiled faintly.

Peter twitched with the urge to pull him in for a hug. Oh, hell with it. They only had a few minutes before he needed to flip the steaks anyway. He kicked his chair a little closer to Neal's, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him in.

It was probably a measure of Neal's current state of mind that he didn't fight it, just tilted into Peter like he'd been waiting for it.

"You okay?" Peter asked softly.

"I will be," Neal murmured, and leaned into his side.


End file.
